Gilan's Apprenticeship
by OakleafHeron
Summary: Halt had always intrigued him. His horse, his skills, his job. Especially his job. A King's Ranger of Araluen. A huge responsibility. Will Gilan be able to tackle the role of a Ranger in the prevention of another threat?
1. The Forest

**This chapter was rewritten on the 18/06/2018**

* * *

Gilan had always watched Halt ever since he had started visiting his father. He remembered sitting near the window and watching him leave time and time again. Galloping off on his horse, Abelard. Always going on one mission or another. Living such a free lifestyle. He envied him. It seemed to be such a welcoming path compared to becoming a knight, although his father was one. Now, as he rushed to gather a few of his belongings together, he knew that today would be different. It had been three years since he had first become interested in becoming a Ranger. When he had first talked to his father, Sir David, about the idea, he had told him to think about it for the moment, saying that it was a very big decision.

That didn't faze him. He felt deep in his gut that today was the day. He was going to follow Halt, even if he had to travel all the way to Redmont before the Ranger noticed him.

He then had second thoughts. He had never made such a long journey alone. He wasn't sure if he could handle it. But he knew that he had to. Battleschool didn't seem to be the right place for him anymore. All of the strict drills and schedules didn't fit him.

He had changed a lot since he had first met Halt, he realised. Now, he needed a change of scenery. He opened his closet and took out his leather satchel. He proceeded to put some of his personal belongings into it, along with a map. He would get some food later.

Once he was done with that, he took his sword from where he had leaned it against a wall and buckled it around his waist. He looked out of the window of his room. The sun was peeking over the horizon, leaving the sky glowing with orange hues. He stood there for a moment, taking in the view. Then he shifted his gaze to the ground below. The stone courtyard was beginning to fill up with some of the Battleschool instructors, entertaining themselves with some mock combat while the students weren't around. He could hear the metal ring of their swords echoing through the air.

He knew he wouldn't see this again for quite a while. He was reluctant to leave his spot at the window, but he knew that he wouldn't get an opportunity like this again.

))*((

"I checked on Gilan earlier," Halt said. "He was packing his things."

Sir David stroked his chin thoughtfully. They were just outside the Battleschool, having one last conversation before Halt had to leave for Redmont once more. "Just as you said…"

Halt remained silent. Sir David glanced at him, an amused look on his face. As usual, Halt had his cowl drawn up over his head, hiding whatever expression he had on his face.

"Tell me, Halt, how often are you right?" he asked, grinning. Halt looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. They looked at each other for a second before Halt shrugged.

"I don't count. How should I know?" Halt replied. The knight chuckled, clapping his hand on Halt's back.

"Goodbye, Halt. I'll see you in another month or so," Sir David called as Halt mounted his small, grey horse. Halt turned and raised a hand in farewell as he rode into the tree line. As the knight watched the Ranger disappear into the bushes, he heard a slight rustle of leaves. He turned sharply towards the direction the sound had come from, but there was nothing to be seen. He pretended that nothing had happened.

))*((

Gilan quickly ducked into the shadows and moved into the forest. He peeked at Halt and Sir David, who were still talking. He gave a small start as Halt pointed Abelard's head towards the tree line and began to urge him towards it. He swiftly lowered his head behind the bush as Abelard thundered by. As he watched, the horse twitched its ears while tossing its head and snorting. Halt reached out to pat Abelard's neck, muttering a few words to calm down his mount. Gilan rose to a crouch and ran alongside the path that Halt had taken, the grass and leaves under his feet rustling slightly. He held the scabbard of his sword to keep it from banging against his thigh as he tried to keep the horse in sight. Within minutes, he had lost sight and sound of them. He opened his satchel and took out his map. He carefully traced the route that he had taken. They seemed to be heading directly south-east. That could change at any time though. Rangers were known to be unpredictable.

He decided to go south-east anyway. Even if he didn't see Halt on the journey, at least he would meet him at Redmont. As he walked, he sorted through the contents of his satchel, organising everything properly. He felt as if he had forgotten something. He checked the distance between Caraway and Redmont and cursed softly. He hadn't stopped for food, or a tent. He only had his water bag. He needed to catch up to Halt soon, or else he'd have to turn back. Hopefully Halt would stop for his noon meal instead of eating while riding.

))*((

It must have been when noon he heard the sound of running water. Gilan walked closer towards the Slipsunder River. He saw Halt, munching away on some leftover pie which he must've brought from the Battleschool. Feeling confident, Gilan strode up behind the figure, taking extra care to make sure his feet didn't make any noise. Just as his hand was about to grasp his shoulder, Halt quickly turned. Gilan felt his collar tighten around his neck, and heard a loud splash. As he was still trying to comprehend what had just happened, he felt himself being swept off his feet. Around him, the trees blurred into a mass of green. He opened his mouth to give a yell of fright, but water flooded inside. Something firmly gripped his arm, and he found himself lying down next to a stream, coughing up water.

"You shouldn't follow a Ranger like that," Halt said grimly, fixing him with a cold stare. Gilan searched his eyes for any sign of regret or sympathy. There was none. Gilan gulped nervously. "Stay with me for a bit, and maybe you'll learn how."


	2. Double Knife Defense

**Author's note:**

 **Hi everyone! I've made the chapter longer this time, cause now that I look at my other one, I realise that it would barely have taken 5 minutes to read.**

 **I would like to especially thank SoaringEagle11, ByTheOldOak, and RA fan. You don't know how much your reviews mean to me, I felt like a five-year-old on Christmas Day. :) You were all very helpful!**

 **Again, feedback would be very helpful! Now I'm gonna try and imagine what happens next...**

 ***Update: For those Power Ranger fans out there, you should go check out SoaringEagle11's latest story, Betrayed, which is focused on Kendall from Dino Charge. She's a very talented writer, and has put a lot of hard work into it!**

* * *

 _Double Knife Defence_

"Now, since there are clearly no weapons for you to practice with, I'll be teaching you silent movement and tracking. If you're a quick learner, we can move onto other things."

Gilan was sitting on a log facing Halt, nursing a cup of coffee in his hands. They had almost finished their noon meal and were sitting beside the stream.

"Wasn't I silent earlier?"

"As I said, you were blundering around the trees like a lost elephant. But you do seem to have some knowledge."

"Really?" Gilan raised his eyebrows.

"Yes, in fact, the same knowledge as everyone else in the kingdom," Halt said, raising his eyes to the sky, "If you think the person who you're evading saw you, then run to the nearest hiding spot. Well, it's not like that. You will have to learn a lot more." Halt felt guilty for not telling Gilan the whole truth. The boy could probably evade at least half of the castle guards in the kingdom.

"Like what?"

"You'll learn how to reign in your questions for instance." Gilan stared at him.

"Well, I thought you told me earlier that it was good for a Ranger to be inquisitive."

"Inquisitive, yes. But inquisitive usually doesn't involve firing a barrage of questions." Halt said, raising his eyebrow. "Rangers get their answers by watching and observing, most of the time. Now, once you're finished with your coffee, we'll get started."

* * *

Gilan gave a yell of surprise, and almost scrambled up into a tree when he saw it was only Halt.

"I'll never be able to do that! I didn't even feel anything! Usually, when someone comes close to me, I can feel it! And you came up right in front of me." Gilan shook his head disbelievingly.

Halt removed his hand from the boy's shoulder and looked at him gravely.

"You can't expect to do everything right the first few times," Halt said, "and there's only one way to get to the point where you're a master at it."

"How?" asked Gilan, wide-eyed.

"Practice...practice...and more practice." Gilan inwardly groaned. Now that he knew how hard the training of a Ranger actually was, he wondered whether he should run back to Battleschool and continue his training there, or pursue his dream of a Ranger's informal life. Halt's voice brought him back to the present. "If you're done daydreaming, I can show you the proper techniques for silent movement." He began to show him how to test the branches underfoot before committing his full weight to it.

"This is so slow!" Gilan complained as he kicked a branch from the dirt. Halt raised an eyebrow.

"Speed is the enemy of stealth." he admonished. "If you run around carelessly, you'll make enough noise to wake up a hibernating bear. When you move the branches aside, lift it carefully with your foot and drop it quietly, boy." Gilan attempted to follow Halt's instructions, and after half an hour of walking, he noticed that there was less rustling from his feet than there was before. He only heard occasional crunching when he failed to see a small object. Halt suddenly put up his hand, and Gilan stopped abruptly.

"What's wrong Halt?" he whispered.

"Nothing's wrong, boy. But do you see it?" Halt breathed back.

"See what?" Gilan asked irritably. The forest that was stretched in front of them didn't look strange in any way. Halt pointed to the base of a pine tree.

"Rabbit tracks," he said.

"Rabbit tracks? And here I was thinking that it was some kind of an emergency," Gilan snapped.

"I told you that I would teach you how to track. I still fully intend on doing so. Now how many rabbits passed through there?"

"Um…ten?" he guessed.

"Are you asking me or telling me?"

"Sorry, ten," Gilan replied, trying to sound sure of himself.

"That's better. But you're wrong. There were seven," Halt replied.

"Big difference. They're still rabbits."

"Oh believe me, boy, there is a big difference. If there were thirty Skandian raiders, and you thought there was only one, we could be in a lot of trouble."

"You're right Halt," Gilan sighed.

"I know," he said, "Now let's hunt down some rabbit for dinner." He ghosted through the trees once more, following the small indentations in the ground. Gilan rushed to keep pace with him. _He's surprisingly fast for a short man_ , he thought, _and why does he have to be so grim about everything?_

* * *

Sunset soon came, and Halt stopped.

"We'll camp here for the night," he said, indicating a small clearing that was densely surrounded by trees on one side. He took out his one-man tent from his pack and began setting it up. "Go and get some firewood."

Gilan scanned the area between the trees before deciding his path. He strode towards the cluster of branches and began collecting them up. An eerie silence had set itself over the forest. It was only broken by the hoot of an owl, and the crackling of leaves as a mouse desperately tried to bound away. Gilan shuddered. Fear began to take its hold on him, and he clumsily tossed the rest of the branches into his ever-increasing bundle before rushing towards camp, the cold air stinging his lungs.

Gilan piled all of the firewood in the centre of the clearing and took his flint and steel from his pocket. He struck them together and the sparks fell on a small pile of leaves. It was a second or two before the leaves burst into flames. He blew them next to the firewood and waited, shielding the small flame from the wind. The fire was soon crackling, and Gilan huddled closer to it.

"Well it looks like I won't have to teach you everything," Halt said, emerging from the tent. "Before we start cooking dinner, I want to see if you've improved with that sword of yours since I last saw you." Halt's knives slid out of their scabbards with a soft hiss. He held his saxe knife in his right hand, and his throwing knife in the left. The larger knife looked long enough to be a short sword. Golan noticed that the blades of both knives were slightly tinted with blue.

"You can't possibly block a sword with those!" Gilan scoffed.

"Try me."

The sword instantly flew out of its scabbard and Gilan aimed an overhand cut at Halt, determined to best him at something for once. The steel glittered through the air in an arc. Gilan's jaw dropped as he felt a jarring sensation in his arms as the blade was stopped cold. Halt had his eyebrow raised, _As_ _usual_ , Gilan thought. He glanced down at his sword, and to his surprise, Halt had blocked it by crossing the knives together, the smaller knife supporting the saxe.

"Is that all?" There was only the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes, but for Halt, that was the equivalent of an uncontrollable laugh. "I'm sure you had already learned this when you were twelve," he added. Gilan swung his sword around towards Halt's waist. It was stopped once again with almost contemptuous ease. "Come on, try something else."

This only served to infuriate Gilan, and, frowning in concentration, he launched a series of backhand and side cuts. Each was blocked with a ringing clang of steel, and soon the effort that Gilan was putting in was highly visible. Halt had barely broken a sweat. Gilan's left hand flexed, and he tossed the sword to it and quickly darted forward, thrusting the sword, and stomping his left foot down. By the time he saw the large knife that stood in its way, it was too late. He felt the point of his sword slide down the length of the blade, and he stumbled forward. Halt quickly gripped the back of his jerkin.

"Well, we'd better have dinner soon," he said, pulling Gilan back upright, "I'll cook. By the way, that was the double knife sword defence. I'll teach you some other time. For now, you might want to sharpen your sword." Gilan looked down and moaned. He would have to spend the whole night running the sharpening steel over the blade. He glanced over at Halt's knives. _Not a single scratch,_ he thought enviously.


	3. The Adder

**Author's note:**

 **Sorry, it took a while. A lot of things have kept me busy (like homework and a silly debate about the existence of unicorns), and I had a small case of writer's block. This chapter's pretty long, I wanted to split it into two, but I couldn't think of a good place to do so.**

 **I would like to thank ByTheOldOak and** **AreiaCananaid for their reviews. I really appreciate it! Apart from saying I need longer chapters, no one's really told me anything else I need to work on...Please be that person, someone...**

* * *

 _The Adder_

Gilan felt sluggish as Halt touched his shoulder.

"Your watch. Remember what I told you earlier."

When Halt had told Gilan that they would set a watch, he had complained that there would be nobody around to attack them. Halt had retorted, telling him to always assume that an enemy was there, and would attack them. Sighing, Gilan climbed out of the tent and clasped Halt's spare cloak around his neck. The fire had already died down to warm embers. He pulled the cowl deep over his head, and settled into a bush, wrapping the cloak around him. He felt something small land on his head, then heard the quiet pattering of rain. His eyes swept from left to right, then back again. _This is going to be a long night._

The sun cast twisted shadows throughout the forest, and Gilan quietly rose out of the bush and stretched his arms, giving a small yawn. He was stiff, cold, and wet. The cloak was now damp, but he had kept it on for some shelter from the rain. He pushed the cowl back, and his brown hair glowed from the sunlight. Gilan could barely hear Halt's soft breathing as he went inside the tent and shook him gently awake. Halt's eyes remained closed, so Gilan gradually shook him harder and harder.

"You know I'm ignoring you for a reason," came his irritated voice, "Where's breakfast?"

Gilan fidgeted a little.

"I just wanted to wake you up because it's morning," he replied, "and, Halt, I don't know how to cook."

"Hmm..." Halt sat up slowly and stroked his black beard thoughtfully. His dark eyes met the eager green ones in front of him. "Well around here, we don't have servants to make breakfast for us. Next time, light the fire before waking me up, and don't crawl into the tent with a wet cloak."

"Sorry Halt," he said meekly. He dashed outside, and soon the fire was roaring merrily. Steam rose from the cloak that Gilan had laid next to it. Halt came out of the tent and glanced up at the branch where they had hung the second rabbit carcass, ensuring it was still there. He then took some bread and strawberry conserve from his pack and found two reasonably clean sticks. He set them down near the fire and went back to his pack. He returned with a small bag of coffee beans, a kettle and a pot of honey. Gilan watched as Halt used his saxe knife to grind the beans into powder and tip it into the kettle.

"Well, what are you waiting for? Toast the bread!" Gilan looked at him, head tilted slightly to one side, then started putting the sticks through the bread, and leaned them against the fire. By the time the bread had finished toasting, they were holding steaming cups of coffee. Gilan set his cup down on the dirt and removed the sticks from the fire. They sat in silence as they spread the strawberry conserve over the bread and devoured it. "We'll be focusing on tracking today."

"What will we be tracking?" Gilan asked. He secretly hoped that they were tracking something exciting, like a boar. But Halt's next words dashed his hopes.

"Anything, really. Mostly deer, and more rabbits or small birds for our stores." Gilan must've looked somewhat crestfallen because Halt added, "But if we do come across a predator or the like, we'll be tracking those down too."

"That'll be fun." Gilan gave a wide grin.

"Don't count on it."

* * *

The sun was beginning to set. Gilan dropped to one knee and studied the footprint thoughtfully. It seemed quite moist, and it was very deep.

"The rabbit must've passed through in the last hour or so. It came by in quite a hurry," he remarked.

"And why would it do that?" Halt prompted. Gilan looked up at him, his eyes shining with excitement. He stood up abruptly, dusting off his knees.

"It was being chased!" he exclaimed, and he began darting back and forth, trying to find some sign of the predator. Halt stayed leaning against a tree, watching him. His keen eyes only spotted a couple of indentations, all of which were long, curvy lines. His shoulders slumped. The marks were probably part of the natural landscape.

After seeing him give up, Halt realised that the boy had never seen tracks like this before, and said gently, "You're right. It was being chased. But you see those lines in the ground? Those are the tracks of an adder, a species of snake." Gilan's hair stood up on end. He had never encountered a snake before, but MacNeil had often compared a quick sword thrust to the strike of a snake. He had a bad feeling about what they were going to do next. "Let's track it and kill it tomorrow. There's barely an hour of sunlight left. The forest could do with one less snake."

* * *

Their soft leather boots barely made a sound as they ghosted through the trees, stopping every few steps to check the ground and to make sure the adder was still ahead of them. After the fifth stop, Gilan noticed that the snake appeared to be dragging something.

"Bound to be the rabbit whose tracks we saw earlier," Halt had said when he had asked, "Adders usually bite their prey to poison them, then they come back and collect their hunt once it's dead." The tracks wound around the trees, and occasionally, they would lose track of it, and they had to retrace their steps. It was mid-morning when they emerged into a clearing. Halt stood a metre behind the treeline, completely still, and his eyes darted back and forth until they settled on a small burrow in the ground. There was a deep line in front of it, and blood and small bits of fur were off to the side. Gilan held his breath as he observed that the line leading to the trench was wider than usual.

"It ate the rabbit. Now, what do we do?"

"We wait," Halt replied, melting back into the trees. Gilan hurried to follow suit. Halt sat down against a log, and the cloak caused his figure to be very hard to distinguish from his surroundings. Gilan stood uncertainly, then leaned against the trunk of a tree. He crossed his arms in front of him, and his head began to nod. _He began to see visions of an adder wrapping itself around him, and Halt and MacNeil shouting furiously at him for his failure to defend himself. He only faintly heard his father's voice, and suddenly, he was in a field. Morgarath, the Lord of Rain and Night, was charging towards him, his broadsword gleaming in the sunlight. He pulled his sword out of its scabbard and held it in front of him to meet the blow. He heard a loud crash, and to his surprise, when he looked up, he was watching a jousting contest at the Caraway Fief Battleschool. A red-clad figure had just unseated his opponent._

"He's good isn't he, Gil?" his father commented. Gilan jolted awake and found that he was still leaning against the trunk. Clouds of worry began to fog his mind. What had become of his father, Sir David, since he had last seen him. He was the Battlemaster of Caraway Fief, and under normal circumstances, he would have already sent out a few knights in search of him. Had he fallen ill? Or did he assume that he was mature enough to fend for himself?

"Halt? Can I ask you a question?"

"You already have," came his gruff voice.

"Well, I would like to ask another," Gilan said, picking his words carefully.

"Go ahead."

"Do you know why my father hasn't started searching for me by now?"

"He isn't concerned about you. He knows you're out here with me."

"How?" Halt gave vent to a sigh. Gilan's never-ending questions were starting to bother him.

"I told him you would follow me," he answered, in a tone that signified the end of the discussion on that topic. Gilan looked up at the sun, trying to distract himself from the thousands of other questions he had wanted to ask. It was early afternoon, and there was only a couple of hours until sunset. Halt followed his gaze, his thoughts running on the same lines. "It'll come out at sunset," he said in response to Gilan's unspoken question, "Not long to go. Now here's what we'll do..."

* * *

The shadows played tricks on Gilan's eyes, and everywhere he looked, there seemed to be a snake in every bush or tree, just waiting to strike. He watched the little burrow intently, and at times, he thought he saw a flicker of movement inside. A long shape soon darted out, and Gilan unsheathed his sword and broke cover. He instinctively calculated the timing, and at the right moment, he stuck his sword down. The snake gave a hiss, and reared back from the sword point, its tongue flickering in and out. When it saw that Gilan was standing there dumbfounded, it began to slither up the sword. Gilan leapt back in surprise, leaving his sword stuck point first in the ground. As he was retreating back into the treeline, he heard the low thrum of Halt's longbow. The snake quickly flung itself from the sword, and the arrow missed its mark. Impulsively, Gilan began to create a shower of twigs and small rocks around it. It bolted towards him, and as he tripped backwards, he saw its fangs so close to his face, glistening with poison. Time seemed to stretch, and distantly, he heard another resounding thrum, and a smack, as there was a flash of movement in front of his face. He blinked his eyes to make sure it was a reality, let out a breath that he hadn't realised he had been holding, then he slowly stood up. The snake had an arrow through its head, and it was completely still. An ominous dark stain was spreading across the ground. Halt bent over and snapped the shaft off the arrowhead and the fletching.

"We might as well stay here tonight. Good work," Halt said with a ghost of a smile. Gilan beamed at him, but Halt was deadpan once more.


	4. End of the Week

**Author's note:**

 **I had this published for five minutes, then I realised I forgot to add the author's note. *gasp***

 **I would like to thank LightspeedArcher, AreiaCananaid and ByTheOldOak for their reviews for the last chapter. Especially AreiaCananaid. Hope you enjoy...**

 **Btw I wanted to write this chapter and the next chapter as one, but this ended up to be longer than what I planned.**

* * *

"Here we are," Halt said softly. Gilan walked until he was standing next to him. "Get your things and say goodbye. I'll be waiting here." He gave him a small push in the back, and Gilan was propelled forwards, out of the treeline. He glanced quickly over his shoulder, but he couldn't see Halt. Shrugging slightly, he made his way over the drawbridge. The guards of Castle Caraway didn't stop him-he was a familiar figure with them. He walked to the south tower, went inside, and skipped up the stairs. They wound around the inside of the tower, with the wall being on Gilan's right. It was designed that way so that defenders would only have to expose their right side, while on the other hand, attackers would have to expose their whole body. Not that it would work on him. MacNeil had ensured that he was at least fairly skilled with his left hand. Once he was on the fifth floor, he bounded past all of the heavy oak doors, until he stood in front of one at the very end of the corridor. He smartly rapped on it in a strange sounding rhythm, then opened it and stepped into the room. Sir David was already pushing his chair back, having heard his special knock, and had a broad grin plastered all over his face. The white of Gilan's teeth flashed back in response.

"Gil! The past few days have been so dull without you! I take it that you survived your week with Halt?" They embraced each other warmly, then Sir David stepped back and returned to his desk. Gilan shifted from one foot to the other a little uncertainly. He knew what he wanted to tell his father, but he didn't know how to approach the subject. He finally settled on a direct approach.

"Father, I've enjoyed the last week with Halt and a Ranger's life is very fascinating. I would like to become his apprentice, with your permission, of course." If the Battlemaster was surprised, he certainly didn't show it.

"Halt talked to me about this last week. Of course, you have my permission. But are you sure? It takes five years of training..." Gilan suddenly felt very impatient. Of course, he was sure.

"I've been wanting to do this for the past two years. I'm willing to take on the challenge."

"You may go Gilan. Take Storm with you. It's quite a journey to Redmont."

"Goodbye, Dad. I'll visit you when I have the chance." Gilan stepped forward, and Sir David scooped him up into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet. He quickly set him down and turned towards the window, tears of pride trickling down his cheeks.

* * *

Gilan drove his knee into the pony's chest and quickly tightened the girth straps. Storm gave a small snort. He glanced at his belongings for the fifth time to make sure that they were strapped securely to the saddle. He led him across the drawbridge and stepped into the forest. Halt was sitting silently on his stocky grey horse. Gilan tried to bury his rising envy and quickly searched his memory for its name. It was...Abelard, that was it.

"Hi Halt. I see you've got Abelard." Halt inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.

"Let's get going. We have a long ride ahead of us." The sun continued to rise as they rode steadily to the south-west. They were travelling using the Ranger's forced march pace, trotting for twenty minutes, and leading their horses for ten. As they entered a period of walking, a thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Halt, why didn't you take Abelard with you that day when I followed you?"

"I didn't have the time to be taking care of a horse while trying to teach you."

"But you have time now?" Halt gave him a stony glare and relapsed into silence. Gilan silently celebrated his triumph in the verbal battle. A smug look dashed across his face for a second. Halt immediately conjured a barb.

"I'll have plenty of time. Especially if you stop asking meaningless questions without thinking through them." Gilan shook his head ruefully. Winning against Halt was just too much to hope for. As the day wore on, it became more noticeable that Gilan's mount was tiring, whilst Abelard looked like he just had a rest. Halt had to keep on drawing in on the reigns so that Gilan could keep up. Soon, Storm's head was down, and his sides were heaving. Halt looked at him and sighed inwardly. There was only one way to help this horse without being too effusive. He quickly found a suitable campsite, and lead them subtly towards it.

* * *

A couple of days later found them at Castle Redmont. Gilan sat down quietly next to Halt.

"And who could this possibly be?" asked Baron Arald. He was a powerful looking man, with kind eyes, and he was a little on the overweight side. That was not surprising, considering the talent of his chef, Master Chubb.

"I'm called Gilan, sir," he replied, grinning at him. Memories flooded back into Arald's mind.

"Of course, you're the Battlemaster's son aren't you? The one who helped lead the cavalry in the battle of Hackham Heath?"

"That's me."

The Baron gave a low chuckle.

"Good luck with Halt. I hope you survive."

Halt gave him a withering glare, but when Arald refused to be withered, he looked away, exasperated.

"We'll be heading back to the cabin, my lord. We'll finish discussing this at a later date."

"Very well. Goodbye, then."

Halt and Gilan stood up, gave him a brief salute, and walked out the door. They walked down the stairs of the tower in silence. There was the barest whisper of footsteps as they crossed the courtyard to the stables. They slipped on Storm and Abelard's tack and rode back towards the village of Wensley. As they neared the edge of the village, Halt pointed Abelard into the trees, and it was only a short ride before they emerged into a small clearing. In the centre, there was a small oak cabin and a small lean-to at the back, supposedly a stable. They rubbed down their horses, and Halt, having finished first, went inside and made a cup of coffee. When Gilan entered, with his belongings in his hand, Halt jerked a thumb towards a small curtained off room.

"Unpack your things, then come out and help cook our noon meal." Gilan sighed, and decided to take as long as possible in unpacking. He took a quick glance around what appeared to be the main room of the cabin, his sharp eyes picking out a vase of wildflowers on the mantel. As he entered the room, the first thing that he noticed was that the window was open, and there was another, smaller vase of wildflowers on the windowsill. Gilan began wondering how they got there. Then he remembered the amount of time he took to rub down an uneasy Storm. He didn't bring much, so even when he tried to unpack slowly, it still took barely five minutes. He reluctantly stepped back outside. Halt had taken his cloak off and was frying some eggs. There was no outward sign that he had noticed Gilan's entrance, but his instincts told him otherwise.

"Get some bread from the pantry, boy." Gilan hurried to comply and Halt nodded to himself. He brought the bread to the table and took two plates. He brought them to Halt, and he placed the eggs on them. They sat at the table in silence and Gilan pondered over all that had happened in the past few days.

"Halt?"

"What is it?" he replied between a mouthful.

"I've been thinking..." Gilan began.

"You're an apprentice. You're not ready to think." Gilan collected his thoughts and felt certain that Halt would consider it important.

"I still have to continue my training with MacNeil, right?" Halt opened his mouth to shoot him down for asking another meaningless question, then fully registered what he had said. His mind raced through all of the reasoning. A sword wasn't a Ranger's standard weapon, but Gilan had trained for three years already, and it would be a shame to waste the experience. On top of that, Farrel had used an axe, after all.

"Of course. It would be a shame to waste your talent. A sword isn't exactly part of a Ranger's weaponry, but it's only because we don't have the time in the five-year apprenticeship to teach swordplay. We'll arrange for you to visit him to train from time to time." Gilan seemed satisfied with the answer. Halt rose from his seat and gestured towards the general direction of the barrel outside.

"The bucket's just there. You can start by filling up the barrel from the river. Tell me when you're done." That was only the beginning of a very tiring afternoon.


	5. Training Begins

**Author's note:**

 **Not much to say this time. Just wanted to thank AreiaCananaid (Yas I wrote it right the first time. :D) for the nice review and the feedback on PM. Oh yeah...With this chapter, I was trying to do less dialogue, cause I noticed that my writing could be converted into a script without too much work, so I wanted to add more detail about the character's actions, etc. instead. Enjoy!**

* * *

 _Training Begins_

Gilan pressed himself flat against the wall next to the curtain. He had been receiving a bucketful of icy cold water for the past two days and he had had enough. The shadows started moving, and Gilan quickly ran over his plan in his head. Halt stepped through the doorway, holding the bucket in his hands. Seeing the small mound in the bed, he dumped the water over it. He stiffened as he heard no ear-ringing howl of complaint. Serves him right, Gilan thought, he's been getting me to do housework for a day too many. He whipped the pillow in his hand over his head and heard a satisfying thump as it struck Halt in the back. Well, at least, he thought he had hit it. But Halt had heard something whistling through the air and had turned around to receive a mouthful of pillow. His eyes widened only the slightest fraction in surprise. He quickly recovered, then yanked the pillow out of Gilan's grasp, staring daggers at him.

"You are truly going to regret this," he spat out. Gilan's impish grin of delight faded. He drummed his fingers on his thigh as he waited for his doom. Halt jerked a thumb towards the doorway. "Go take a shower and have breakfast. Meet me outside at the back of the cabin in twenty minutes." Gilan walked to the door, avoiding the creaking floorboards. He lifted the door as he opened it so that it wouldn't drag on the floor. In his sullen mood, he almost fell over when stepping off the half-metre high verandah. As he came to the back of the cabin, he realised that there would be no time to heat up water. He took the bucket and filled it using the dipper from the tank. He brought it to the wash-house, and a few minutes later found him spluttering as the icy cold water cascaded over him. He quickly dried himself, dressed and headed back inside for breakfast. He found some cold leftovers from dinner the night before, as he couldn't be bothered making proper breakfast. He chewed on them thoughtfully, his stomach knotting in dread. He took his time going to the back of the cabin. Every step seemed so painfully fast. He wished he had walked even slower as Halt came into view. To his surprise, Halt didn't seem, in the least bit, angry. He gestured towards a small bundle on the grass next to him. Gilan narrowed his eyes as he studied it, pondering what could be inside. Halt followed his gaze and inclined his head.

"These are your weapons," he explained, "You seem to be tired of spending your time completely on housework." Gilan inwardly seethed. Tired was a huge understatement.

"What weapons are in there?" Halt picked the bag up and drew a strange looking bow from it. "What kind of a bow is that?" Halt passed it to him, and he studied it carefully. It was unstrung, small, and it felt unbalanced. The centre section was curved like a regular longbow, but the ends pointed forward. It was coated in a dark, matt lacquer, and had a layer of deer sinew covering it.

"It's a recurve bow. I learned how to make one from the Temujai. The limbs give you higher arrow speed for a lower draw weight. This is fifty pounds." Gilan nodded, although he only had the vaguest idea of what Halt was talking about. He examined the bow again, seeing the odd placement of the notches for the bowstring, and attempted to imagine what it would look like when it was strung. He shook himself back into reality. Why imagine when you can see it right now, he asked himself.

"How do you string this?" Halt held his hand out for the bow, and when he received it, he put it on the ground, locking the recurve behind his left ankle. He bent the bow, and it creaked slightly at first, growing louder and louder as it bent further and further. He finally slipped the string into the notch, and tested it first, before handing it to him.

"I'll teach you to use a bow stringer later. For now, you can worry about shooting it." He gestured towards a tree trunk behind him. "If you're ready, you can shoot." Gilan hesitated, taking the bow back from Halt. From Halt's manner, he could tell that he was forgetting something. Obviously not arrows, because the quiver lay on the ground beside him. He looked suspiciously at Halt, who met his gaze and nodded his approval. He nocked the arrow, lifted the bow, and drew the string back. It strained painfully against his fingers, and he grunted softly, his arms shaking. He couldn't bear the weight any longer and released it at the tree. The bowstring whipped into his wrist, and he dropped the bow, crying out in shock whilst clutching his arm. Halt ducked out of the way as the arrow whizzed above his head and it landed a few metres from the base of the tree.

"Why didn't you warn me? You knew that was going to happen!" Gilan yelled, pointing accusingly at Halt, who spread his hands in a gesture of peace.

"I told you. Part of being a Ranger is patience. Don't be too hasty. Observe your surroundings. Why do you think I wear this," Halt said, lifting his left arm and pointing to a stiff leather cuff. Gilan looked at him ruefully, still nursing his wrist. He rinsed it with cold water from the tank, and Halt slipped a similar looking cuff on top of it and gave him a small tab to protect his fingers. "Again," he instructed, jerking a thumb towards the tree.

Gilan lifted the bow and nocked the arrow. He pointed it roughly towards the tree and drew the string back. This time, it was much easier, as the tab protected his fingers from the strain of the string. When he released the string, there was a thud as the arrow landed much closer to the tree.

"Not bad." Halt nodded slightly. "You can try a few more shots later. Let's move onto your knives." Gilan hopped from one foot to the other in anticipation as Halt pulled the knives out of the bag in their double scabbard. When it was handed to him, he eagerly slid the saxe knife out. Halt watched with approval as he saw the care with which Gilan handled it. Gilan lightly fingered the blade, muttering to himself that, with a blade that sharp, it was no wonder that Halt's knives had left so many nicks in his sword. The knives were both plain-looking, with a brass crosspiece and pommel, and the handle was covered in leather. The blade and the balance were the only signs of the craftsmanship that had gone into it.

"As well as the double knife sword defense, you'll be learning to throw these. Get the throwing knife out of the sheath. I'll teach you the concept." Gilan unsheathed the throwing knife, and Halt showed him how to hold it by the blade, and throw it so that it spun through the air at varying speeds.

"Close to the tip and it's going to spin faster. Set your grip further up the blade towards the hilt and it'll turn more slowly through the air." Gilan's tongue stuck out in concentration, and he put his arm back and sent the knife spinning through the air. To his chagrin, there was a slight metallic clang as the pommel hit the trunk. "You'll get it soon enough. Keep practicing."

Halt went inside the cabin and came out with a small pile of dispatches and reports, all with an oak leaf depicted on them. Gilan gave him a confused look, and Halt made a rolling gesture with his hand.

"Any time before sunset will do."


	6. Saddler's Farm

**Author's note:**

 **Sorry, I've had the busiest week, and yes, it's holidays, but I had this huge project that ate up all my time. And I've been blasting all my free time in the evenings watching Arrow. Why does Oliver Queen seem so similar to the Rangers of Araluen?**

 **I'd like to thank AreiaCananaid and Ranger River for their reviews, the support is very much appreciated. :) And thanks to everyone who has followed and favourited. It really motivates me.**

* * *

The forest was empty. At least, seemingly empty. But to observers with keener eyes, they would've made out two cloaked figures, the shape of their bodies distorted by the mottled patterning on their cloaks. But there was no one to watch them, although Halt insisted that they assumed there was. They stopped every once in a while so that he could tighten up Gilan's technique. He had improved in unseen movement quite significantly in the past week. Gilan's eyes darted around underneath the shadows of his cowl, trying to find a place of any interest nearby. As they kept going further, the smell of horse manure became more evident. They neared the edge of the forest, and he saw a small barn, with a cabin alongside it.

"Hello Young Bob," Halt called out as they walked towards a small paddock. A short, bowlegged man was tending to a bay mare. He ambled out of the paddock and shut the gate behind him. He looked around expectantly as if waiting for someone else. "I didn't bring Abelard."

"Hello, Ranger Halt. I see this is your new apprentice." They exchanged a weird look, and Gilan felt that he was the butt of a joke. He had never seen Halt looking this amused.

"Yes, this is Gilan," Halt was saying, "Gilan, this is our horse breeder, Young Bob."

"Ah, yes. So how are you liking being an apprentice so far?" Young Bob asked.

"It's been…interesting," Gilan replied hesitantly.

"Are you enjoying it?"

"Yes." He realised that it was overall enjoyable, except for the housework. By now, he had accustomed to Halt's sarcasm and dry humour.

"So how do like this one to be your horse. Her name is Blaze." Young Bob waved a hand towards the saddled bay mare grazing in the paddock. Gilan's eyes widened with admiration.

"She's lovely. Can I try her out?"

"Let me warn you, no one's stolen a Ranger horse before." Gilan looked at him and tried to work out the relevance of his warning with the current situation.

"Go ahead, if you think it's a good idea." Realisation washed over him, and he remembered hearing similar words when he was about to shoot the bow. But what was so terrible in mounting a horse? Why hadn't anyone stolen a Ranger horse before? Maybe he had to do a special gesture. He shrugged and walked into the paddock, put his foot in the stirrup, and swung up into the saddle. He had barely touched the saddle when he felt Blaze tense up. He looked worriedly at the horse, but she began bucking, and leaping, and twisting in all directions. Gilan felt as useless as a sack of potatoes as he felt himself slide backwards, then felt himself hang off the right of the saddle, before sliding off the pommel onto Blaze's neck. She promptly stuck her head down and kicked her hind legs into the air, and he fell to the ground, winded. He desperately sucked air into his lungs and sat up slowly with a groan.

"No one's stolen a Ranger horse. Now I see why," he said, still gasping for air in between his words. "What was I supposed to do anyway?"

"Every Ranger horse has a code phrase. You have to whisper it in their ear before you mount."

"Every time?"

"Just the first. Blaze will remember you after that." Gilan looked at him suspiciously. There was every chance that Bob was lying, but it didn't seem to be the case.

"So what do I have to say?"

"It's different for every horse. For Abelard, it's 'permettez-moi', and before you ask, it's Gallic. What was Blaze's phrase, Bob?" The old man closed his eyes as he tried to remember. As Gilan began to inwardly panic, he opened them and smiled knowingly.

"I believe that with Blaze, you say 'brown eyes'." The moment he heard it, Gilan thought the phrase sounded a little absurd. At least he would only have to say it once. He slowly approached Blaze again and looked back at Old Bob to be sure.

"I have to say 'brown eyes', right?" He nodded back in reply and chuckled at Gilan's uncertainty. He waved a hand towards the horse encouragingly. Gilan pressed his head closer to its ear and whispered the phrase. Blaze looked back at him and seemed to have an impatient look in her eyes. Gilan frowned at his wild imagination. Horses don't have emotions. He put his foot in the stirrup and cautiously swung himself over. Blaze remained calm and unmoving, but who knew what other tricks she had been taught. As he waited, dreading the moment where her muscles would begin to bunch up, he realised that Halt and Old Bob were looking at him expectantly.

"Try her out. Take her for a ride." He pointed her towards the open gate, and the wind was soon streaming past him, lifting his cloak and making it flutter about. His hair was pressed against his forehead. As they rode further away from the farm, he slowed Blaze to a trot. He pressed his left knee to her side, and she swiftly moved to one side. As he tried the signal with his right leg, he grinned in satisfaction. He had always wondered how Halt did it with Abelard.

* * *

He came back to the farm an hour later, and Bob taught him some of the other signals that Blaze was trained to respond to. He also learnt some of the warnings that Blaze gave in the case of an intruder, or an unknown presence. By the end of the day, he was happy to collapse into his bed.

The next morning, while they were eating breakfast, he noticed that Old Bob had gone outside. He heard his voice, along with some soft whinnies. He pushed back his chair to see what was going on, but Halt quickly gripped his arm and pulled him back down, shaking his head.

"He's just saying goodbye to Blaze. You'll embarrass them both if you go out there now." They quietly finished their breakfast and walked outside. Young Bob was patting Blaze's muzzle, and muttering a few last words to her. He looked up and saw them, and led Blaze over to Gilan. He took her reigns and loosened the girth straps.

"I'll be walking back with Halt,' he explained. Bob quickly showed him how to knot the reigns and toss them over her neck, then they said their goodbyes. As they walked back, Gilan was skipping around excitedly. Halt looked at him balefully, then shrugged. There was nothing he could do or say to snap him out of this mood.


	7. MacNeil

**Author's note:**

 **I am _so_ sorry about the really slow update. I've been slacking off too much in the last week of holidays so yeah...**

 **Thanks, AreiaCananaid and Ranger River for your reviews, your support has kept me going.**

 **Enjoy, while I try and work on updating quicker. XD**

* * *

There was a slight crease on his forehead as he sent the arrows thudding into their respective targets. Halt quietly stepped off the veranda, a leather folder in his hand, and nodded his approval. Gilan grinned in acknowledgement and Halt sat down in the shade of an oak tree nearby. He pulled a few sheets of paper from the folder and started reading through them. Most of them had an oakleaf symbol on the top. Gilan proceeded to empty his quiver at a rapid his hand came back from his quiver empty, he strode to the targets and collected them. Most of the two dozen had hit the bullseye right in the centre, the five that missed were buried in the ring just outside of it. Halt saw the boy's slightly disappointed look and wondered whether he should tell him how his shooting compared to the kingdom's finer archers, apart from those in the Ranger Corps of course. He quickly dismissed the idea, shaking his head slightly. Too much ego-stroking. He flipped through the few sheets of paper in his hand. Report, another report, Battleschool Assessment form, Halt thought lazily until one sheet caught his eye.

 _Dear Halt_ , it read,  
 _Hope you are well, and that Gilan is working hard enough for you. MacNeil and I have been in contact, and I've arranged for Gilan to go to him for a training session in two weeks. He resides in Bannock Fief, Gilan knows the way. MacNeil has requested that you attend, as he would like to give you a few pointers on how Gilan is supposed to continue with his sword training.  
Sincerely,  
Sir David_

Halt racked his brains. The letter must've taken about three days to arrive there, so that meant that there were eleven days left until the training session. They would have to leave in about a week. He looked up to Gilan, who had resumed his archery practice, and beckoned him over. Gilan looked at him curiously as he set down his bow and as Halt stood up.

"Your father has arranged for you to have a training session with MacNeil in about a week and a half," he explained. "We'll have to leave in a week or so."

Gilan grinned. "Well, I can't wait."

Halt scowled at his apparent enthusiasm. "So I'm that bad."

"Well you can't teach me any swordplay, but apart from that, you're an ace," Gilan replied easily.

"Hmm…" he grumbled. But inwardly, Halt was beaming at the praise, despite having such a contradicting outer appearance.

* * *

"Why can't you be happy for once Halt?" Gilan prodded playfully. A withering glare was turned on him, but he was in no mood to be withered. They were close to Castle Bannock now, and Gilan's excitement was flooding out of him.

"I'll be happy alright. I'll be happy after I send you up a tree when you next ask that question." Halt's eyes glinted dangerously as he leaned over Gilan threateningly. However, it was a disconcerting sight, as Blaze was a little longer legged than Abelard, and that, added to the fact that Halt was definitely not on the tall side, caused Halt's head to barely come up to Gilan's shoulder. Gilan suddenly became aware of the huge building looming up ahead of them, and the faint noises of wood striking leather padded posts, and the rings of blades meeting together. It sounded so much like the Battleschool he grew up in. Halt followed Gilan through the large gate at the front. Inside, there were first-year cadets doing drills on the posts with wooden swords. Older cadets sparred with each other, their armour glinting in the sunlight as they circled. On the far end of the courtyard, a man was yelling the cadence. Gilan's grin grew even wider as he rode towards him.

"MacNeil!" The man in question looked up, and the joy was evident in his posture, although his face was covered by the visor of the helmet.

"Gilan! It's good to see you. You and the Ranger can leave your horses to the stablehands if you like. Although, from experience, you Rangers like to take care of your own horses, yes?" He had removed his helmet as he spoke, and an orange moustache had popped out. The top of his head glistened with sweat due to spending hours outside in full armour on a sunny day. The beads of moisture rolled down to the hair at the sides of his head. As they dismounted, his eyes swept over the boy before locking onto Halt. "Ah, and you must be Halt! He's a lot shorter than I thought," he muttered the last part to Gilan, who gave a low snigger, but Halt's sharp ears had caught it. His death-stare moved slowly from one person to the other, and he finally looked away.

"Gilan, you remember the trees around our cabin?" his voice was low, but nonetheless threatening. Gilan gave a small gulp, having a feeling where this conversation was heading.

"Y-yes," he stammered out. Halt raised his eyebrow.

"That's the first place you're going to go to when we get back," he replied, a trifle smugly. Gilan gave a groan, and MacNeil laughed.

"Gilan, can I see your sword?" he held his hand out for the weapon, and Gilan unsheathed it and placed the hilt in his hand. The bronze pommel and crosspiece shone, and the leather grip was slightly stained from sweat. When he inspected the blade, he could see that it had been sharpened several times. "Why did you need to sharpen it so much Gilan?"

"Um…" he muttered, before drawing out his saxe knife. MacNeil handed the sword back to him, and took the saxe, brushing his fingers against the edge of the blade, and feeling the strength and sharpness of it. "I sparred with Halt, and he used his knives against my sword," he explained.

MacNeil inclined his head, deeming the explanation to be more than enough. "Well, we'll go and attend to our horses now," Halt said. "Gilan will join you once he's finished."

They led their horses to the stables and found two empty stalls, conveniently placed right next to each other. Blaze tossed her mane in approval.

 _Well this is a pleasant surprise. I'll get to spend the day with Abelard instead of a sack of bones._

"I am not a sack of bones," he murmured as he lifted the saddle off her back. Blaze turned her pleading eyes on him.

 _Where's my apple?_

"I can't get you an apple. I'm a sack of bones, remember," he reminded her. Blaze gave a snort as he removed the bridle, and began nosing around in the hay. He unfolded the leather bucket and placed it on the floor, unstoppered his water bag, and filled it. He took a brush and quickly rubbed down Blaze's coat. Blaze gave him another longing look, and he relented. "Fine. Just one apple."

He reached into his pocket and produced one, and Blaze snatched it out of his hand, chewing eagerly. "I guess I'm done here. See you, Blaze," he said as he stepped out of the stall. He blinked rapidly as he walked out of the stable, his eyes having trouble adjusting to the brightness of the light outside.

"Did you give her another apple?" Halt asked. Gilan gave him a long-suffering look. The arguments they had about the amount of apples Blaze should receive were getting old now.

"Why not?" he retorted. He glanced at MacNeil, who had intrigue written all over his face. "It's nothing," he dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. "Shall we get started?"

"If you're ready, we can start with some drills." Gilan quickly swapped his sword for a wooden one, and soon, the rhythmic thudding was just another noise in Battleschool.

* * *

"Ranger's Apprentice Gilan and Cadet Theodore!" MacNeil called out. Theodore marched into the ring, whilst Gilan walked more casually. They had just finished drills, and were now sparring. Each boy had a wooden sword held loosely in their hand. Theodore was a heavily muscled boy, a little older than Gilan, and Gilan looked even lankier than usual compared to him. There was pointing and murmuring as Gilan took his position. He was only wearing his regular Ranger's attire, with his cloak pushed back from his shoulders.

"Do you think he's going to get hurt?" one of them asked the other.

"Positive." MacNeil overheard him, and a frown of concern spread across his face.

"Gilan, are you sure you don't want armour?" He gestured to the racks of helmets and chainmail just outside the ring.

"No thanks. I'd probably never use armour again."

"Well if you're so sure," he said uncertainly. "Begin!" The boys slowly began to step to their right, and they occasionally feinted attacks, testing each other's skill. Gilan studied Theodore's stance carefully, although he usually would've studied his eyes. Today, his opponent had the visor of his helmet covering his eyes. He kept his eyes darting back and forth over his body. He saw his posture straighten a little, and he quickly brought his sword up to intercept an overhand blow. His opponent swiftly pressed on his advantage with a side cut, which Gilan clumsily blocked. He dodged an overhead backhand before realising he was getting dangerously close to the edge of the ring. He launched a thrust at his opponent, and as the sword was deflected, he switched it to his left hand, performing a series of attacks. His opponent gave ground before the first few blows, but he quickly adjusted to Gilan's tactic. His sword leapt back into his right hand, and he performed a backhand side cut, but the older boy darted to his left, just in front of the wooden blade, and mirrored his movement. Gilan was caught off guard by the unexpected trick, and the sword knocked him off balance, and he fell on the ground, the sword clattering down next to his hand. He looked up and gave Theodore a tired smile. He could already begin to feel the soreness in his ribs as his hand was gripped firmly, and as he was hauled back up.

"You won. You've got to teach me that move sometime." He rubbed his ribs, confirming his earlier suspicions about a bruise. Theodore gave a small laugh.

"Maybe the next time you come around these parts. You seem a bit out of shape right now." MacNeil bustled up to them anxiously.

"Are you alright? You should wear armour next time. What were you thinking?" His rapid speech gave Gilan no time to answer, and the boy stared at him, dumbfounded.

"He's an apprentice. He's not ready to think." Halt deadpanned. MacNeil was the only one to laugh. Gilan inwardly fumed at the statement, but MacNeil's laugh was too contagious, and he joined his chortling. The other boys looked at each other uncertainly. Did the grim Ranger just make a joke?


	8. Down South

**Author's note:**

 **Well there's some good news and some bad news. Good news is, this chapter is longer than usual, sort of to try and make up for my slow updates in the past three weeks-ish.** **Bad news is, my exams are coming up in about a month and a half, so updates will be slower.**

 **Thanks to AreiaCananaid for the nice review. I'm glad that no ones really criticising the way I wrote MacNeil, to be honest, I just wanted another funny character. (Hopefully I won't go overboard though, my sense of humour can be terrible sometimes.)**

 **Please, review, I need to know where I can improve.**

* * *

Gilan gave a small moan as he shifted on the branch, trying to find a more comfortable position. They had taken their time coming back from Bannock Fief, probably Halt's way of making sure he was in good physical shape to stay up in a tree as soon as they came back to the cabin. His bruised ribs only gave a small ache when he pressed them now. He looked up at the moon, trying to judge the amount of time till sunrise. He was disappointed when he saw that it had barely passed its zenith. He sniffed the air, and a very familiar scent entered his nose tauntingly. _Don't think about it_ , he scolded himself. When they had arrived home, he could remember his disbelief as Halt had sent him straight up the tree without a single moment's hesitation, he didn't even give him a cup of… _No! Don't think even about it!_ Gilan screamed at himself. He covered the lower half of his face in a futile attempt to block out the strong scent. But it didn't stay there for long. Unthinkingly, he gave into the temptation and moved his hand back to the branch, then sniffed the air again. _I'd happily kill for a cup of coffee right now_. His fears from earlier in the night were proven true as he began to plot how he would sneak into the cabin and swipe a cup of the rich, strong liquid. He barely noticed as the moon crept closer to the horizon. As he was beginning to climb down the tree, he heard hoof beats echoing through the forest. He swiftly scrambled back up into the branches again and pulled the cowl of his cloak further over his head. Halt appeared to have heard it too, because he hastily pulled the window shut, and dimmed the lights. Gilan held his breath as the hoof beats ceased. A few minutes passed before something seperated itself from the shadows and silently skimmed across the clearing to the cabin. From the mottled patterning of his cloak, Gilan could tell that he was Ranger. His surprise only doubled as the man pushed the cowl back from his head. His sandy red hair seemed lighter in the moonlight. This could be my way back inside, he thought gleefully.

"Commandant Crowley!" he hissed. He had felt uncomfortable at the prospect of just calling him Crowley, considering his rank, so he compromised. There was no outward sign that the Corps Commandant had seen him, but he was sure that his eyes were turned towards the oak tree he was sitting in. He quit with the protocol and turned freely towards him as soon as he recognised Gilan's voice and lanky figure.

"Gilan! It's good to see you! Are you usually on door duty?" Crowley whispered back with a wide grin on his face. Gilan climbed a little lower before replying with a matching grin.

"It's good to see you too! And there usually is no 'door duty' as you put it. I went to MacNeil for a lesson about two weeks ago, and he made a statement about Halt's height. Oh, I wish I hadn't laughed. Halt's been tempting me with coffee just now! It's torture! I was about to go and get some when you came," he said ruefully.

"Go and get some indeed. Have you ever heard of the word 'steal'?" Gilan ran his hand over his face. He hoped that Halt didn't hear all of his venting. "Oh, and Gilan, you're on door duty tomorrow night for an attempted theft of coffee."

"Well hello, Halt," Crowley said cheerfully. "I needed to talk to you about something. It would be helpful if Gilan was there too." Crowley looked at him expectantly and a moment passed before the full meaning of Crowley's words hit him. He tentatively began to climb down the tree. When he saw that Halt wasn't going to stop him, he increased his pace. As Halt led Crowley inside, he dropped down for the last metre and hurriedly followed them in.

* * *

Halt poured another cup of coffee and gestured for the two of them to sit. Gilan gave him a small pout as he sat down. "No coffee for me?"

He gave him his infamous death stare before he poured another cup. He pushed it towards him, and he began drinking it before Halt could change his mind. He knew that the only reason why he got some was because Crowley was there. "So what brings you here Crowley?"

"Well, first of all, I've come to check on Gilan to see how he's progressing. Do you always send the poor thing up trees whenever it suits you?"

"No, first time actually," Halt said, scoffing at Gilan's injured look. "What was the other thing you wanted to talk about?"

"I have a mission for both of you. There's a bit of trouble going on in Celtica lately. The Scotti have been travelling through Hibernia and they're gathering up in the south. They look like they're preparing to travel across the channel."

"So they're going to try to attack Araluen," Gilan concluded.

"Have I told you before that you have a knack for stating the obvious?" Halt jibed.

"Actually, Halt, I haven't finished telling you everything yet," Crowley interrupted. "The Scotti has been seen in parts of Celtica. My guess is that that's their reconnaissance party. So possibly…"

"They want to invade Celtica," Halt finished the sentence for him. "They wouldn't be taking so long or being so careful if it was just a raid. Either way, we'll have to help, because of the defence treaty between Celtica and Araluen. Do you know when they're planning to make the first move?"

"We have no idea. They're in Hibernia, remember, so we haven't got much intel. You and Gilan should leave as soon as possible. I'll send Farrel with you." Halt raised his eyebrow.

"Is that really necessary?" he asked.

"Oh, I forgot, you haven't heard of the Celtic superstition have you? Well, it goes, 'One man may be deceit. Two can be conspiracy. Three is the number I trust.'"

"Well, one riot, one ranger. But I'm only taking Gilan because he's my apprentice."

"Halt, if you only take him with you, leading a hundred men-at-arms, there's no way they'll trust you."

"Well we're not coming with the men-at-arms. We'll see what's what first, then come back for them."

"That's beside the point. I insist that-" Crowley's expression softened as he saw Gilan's confused look. They hadn't been yelling, but he had to admit, their volume had rose throughout the argument.

"Why don't you want Farrel along anyway Halt? He can be very helpful, especially since his leg's healed up now," he said quietly.

"As I said, one riot, one ranger, but I'm willing to make an exception only for an apprentice. We don't exactly need Farrel." His tone of voice signified the end of the debate, but Crowley was far from finished.

"As your commandant, Halt, I order you to take Farrel with you," he commanded decisively. Halt sighed, relenting with very bad grace.

"Very well. We'll leave at dawn. Gilan, mind you, you still have to spend two nights up in a tree when we get back," Halt said smugly.

"What!?" Gilan cried out in surprise.

"Yeah, you'll be spending the rest of tonight inside. Go and get some sleep." Gilan looked at him in surprise, then glanced out of the window. The moon was nearing the horizon, so he'd probably get an hour of sleep in. Better than none.

* * *

The next morning, they had a quick breakfast, before Crowley sped off back to Araluen. Halt and Gilan quickly packed provisions and headed to the castle. Gilan, at first, was confused at this course of action, as the castle was in the opposite direction of where they were supposed to be heading.

"We have to report to the Baron. He won't know what hit him if he finds out that we've vanished without a trace," he explained. Gilan formed a silent 'o' with his mouth.

"Oh yeah, forgot about that detail, because I thought we only answered to the King. But I guess it's helpful for the Baron to know where we are, even if he's not in charge of us." He was silent for the next few minutes, before the inevitable question. "What's going to happen to Redmont while we're gone?"

 _This boy is clever, yet he's so ignorant sometimes_ , Halt thought. Out loud he said, "Morgarath's going to launch an attack, take over Baron Arald's position, and enslave all the villagers." Gilan looked at him, surprised at the matter-of-fact way that he had told him the life-threatening news. "Of course not! Redmont doesn't need a Ranger all the time. But I daresay, once word gets out of our departure, there's going to be all manners of highway robbery and theft."

"Makes sense. I mean, if I was a thief, I would wait till the local Ranger was gone, then quickly steal what I wanted to, then take a boat to Gallica."

"Hmm…well it depends on what you steal. If you stole something of little value, then chances, are, the Ranger won't bother going after you. Why do you want to talk about this anyway?" he asked suspiciously.

"Oh…nothing, just wondering what would happen when we're gone that's all." Halt inspected his face closely, before deciding that he was telling the truth. After he thought about it for a while, he couldn't imagine him as a lowly highway robber.

As they came through the gate, the guards did nothing to slow them down. One of the advantages of being a Ranger, Gilan thought, I would never give this life up for anything else. They left their horses, not bothering to completely unsaddle them, and packs in the stable, and climbed up the keep to the Baron's office. Halt knocked sharply on the door, and the Baron's muffled response came instantly.

"If it's not Martin, you may come in," he called jokingly. Gilan barely managed to hold in his sniggers of laughter as Halt opened the door and briskly walked in. In the few months that he had been here, the Baron had made it clear to him that he absolutely hated paperwork. He coughed to hide his laughter as he saw that the Baron's table was completely covered in paperwork. It was no wonder that he dreaded Martin, his secretary, today. "Ah, Halt and Gilan, what can I do for you?"

"Arald, there have been hints of an upcoming war between the Celts and the Scotti. Gilan and I have been called to accompany the reinforcements that are being sent over there. I just wanted to let you know so that you can be prepared for the wave of highway robbery while we're gone." Halt said grimly. Arald grinned in reply.

"Don't worry, my men can handle highway robbery. Well good luck then, Halt, Gilan. I hope the mission is successful." He waved his hand in dismissal, and Halt nodded his thanks.

"See you, Arald," he replied, before leading Gilan back down the stairs. They tightened the girth straps on the horses and began heading south through Wensley Village. "We'll have to cross the Salmon River before sunset. That way, we can meet up with Farrel at the Gathering Grounds in the Western Woodlands tomorrow."

Gilan nodded absently as his mind turned into a whirlwind of doubt. He had started his apprenticeship during summer, and it was late autumn now. That meant he had been an apprentice for less than six months. What if he failed the mission? Millions of different depressing answers to the question popped up in his head.

 _Come on, first mission, it can't be that bad. Even if you do run into trouble, I'll be there to bail you out._

"Hopefully," Gilan muttered under his breath to his horse.

"What was that?" He realised that the whole time he had been worrying, Halt had been watching him with a strange look on his face. It was a look with the barest hint of concern.

"Well…" he started hesitantly, but Halt gestured for him to continue, "It's just that this is my first mission as a Ranger, and I'm a little nervous, that's all." Halt's eyebrow shot up when he realised that this was the only issue. Just a lack of confidence.

"Tell me this, you helped lead the cavalry across that secret ford so that we could launch a surprise attack on Morgarath's Wargals, right?"

"Right…" Gilan answered cautiously.

"And because of that, we won the battle. You've got nothing to be afraid of, you're perfectly capable of handling yourself out there." Gilan beamed at the compliment. "That is, if you don't drop your sword on your toes."

His smile quickly faded. "Hey! I'm not that clumsy!" he protested.

"Who said you weren't?" Halt shot back.

"Me. As you've just stated about a minute ago, I successfully led the cavalry in the Battle of Hackham Heath, and we only won because of that."

"Actually, you had help. From me." For the rest of the morning, the back-and-forth bantering continued on, Gilan boasting about his achievements. Inwardly, Halt was quite impressed. But to Gilan, he always pointed out the small detail that ruined the whole picture. If not the whole picture, at least he ruined most of it.


End file.
